


Voiceless

by KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Guilt, Invisible Snusmumriken | Snufkin, M/M, Moominmamma is wonderful, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, hecky thump so much angst, in the meantime have some delicious self-indulgent angst, once again the joxter is only referred to in conversation, rated T for allusion to violence in chpt 2, snufkin is so invisible that he can't talk, sorry kids, there's also a single instance of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 13:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18895153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation/pseuds/KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation
Summary: He woke up wanting to scream.The terrible images of his dream remained burned into his memory. He wanted to sit bolt upright and wail. He wanted to throw himself out of the bed so that he could vomit. He wanted Moomin to hold him. He wanted to be able to doanything.But he couldn’t.It was as if he had survived a shipwreck only to experience the terrible weight of the ocean bearing down on his chest, pressure increasing as he sank.Down. Down. Down into darkness.I can’t move.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Snufkin wakes up from a terrible nightmare, desperate for Moomin's embrace, but unable to call out to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i saw [ this post ](https://furryanarchistsnufkin.tumblr.com/post/184652220197/wow-imagine-how-horrible-itd-be-if-snufkin-had) on Tumblr, and I says to myself, 'gee', I says, 'I'm a little shit gremlin whose interests include killing and being killed, so why don't I provide???'
> 
> In all seriousness, my take on the 'invisible snufkin' trope is based in part on my own experience of talking a close friend down after a panic attack. Content warnings for depressive and anxious type thinking, symptoms of PTSD, and some pretty severe self-loathing.
> 
> Also this ended up tying into the whole 'good dad joxter' thing i mentioned in my other moomin fic and haven't written yet - here's to continuity i guess
> 
> Also also, writing dialogue for a character who is sobbing their eyes out is actually really difficult
> 
> Also also also, I was initially going to have Snufkin sleeping nakey, but then I remembered that this is a Good Christian Website, so he's wearing a pair of old trousers for his jim jams

He woke up wanting to scream.

The terrible images of his dream remained burned into his memory. He wanted to sit bolt upright and wail. He wanted to throw himself out of the bed so that he could vomit. He wanted Moomin to hold him. He wanted to be able to do _anything_.

But he couldn’t.

It was as if he had survived a shipwreck only to experience the terrible weight of the ocean bearing down on his chest, pressure increasing as he sank.

Down. Down. Down into darkness.

_I can’t move._

He tried to focus in on something, anything, that could ground him, but his heart was hammering too hard for him to think of anything over the blood rushing in his ears. He was breathing, that was good, but it was fast and shallow and making his head swim. Was he going to suffocate? His eyelids, fluttering rapid and uncontrollably, were the only parts that he could move. Everything else was frozen solid, his limbs foreign, heavy and strange.

He was trapped.

If only he could speak, he could call out to wake Moomin up. He tried, tried so hard, but his throat was squeezed as tight as if it were held shut by a fist. If he could just turn his head, he might be able to blow against one of Moomin’s sensitive little ears, but it was like he’d been strapped in place. His muscles of his jaw clenched down so violently that he started seeing a blinding red pain every time he blinked.

_Oh god I’m going to die. Oh god oh god oh god oh god_

Moomin hummed suddenly and stirred. Snufkin’s heart leapt up into his throat as the pressure lifted, only slightly, but just enough for him to coordinate enough breath to expel a feeble little noise.

He saw Moomin’s ears twitch out of the corner of his eye. It was only a little movement, but it gave him hope, so much hope, like a lifesaver thrown out into the roiling surf. He gathered all his strength, every inch of him trembling with the effort of it, and tried again.

“Mmm…mmuh…”

It wasn’t enough. Moomin had rolled over onto his side, his breaths getting steadily deeper. He felt the weight rushing back in, crushing him, drowning him, and he panicked, scrabbling desperately at the little air he had left.

“M-m…mm…mmmmuh-oomin…”

_Please, please, please wake up, Moomin I don’t want to die, not yet, please, please, oh god, make this stop, please, please, please_

Moomin inhaled abruptly and shuddered awake.

“Huh?”

He tried to answer but he was too far gone, it was all too much, too heavy, his mouth was glued shut. But it was alright, because Moomin had woken up, and he would turn around and comfort him and… and…

Moomin sat up, facing away from him.

“Snufkin?”

_What?_

“Snufkin?” Moomin called again, a note of concern entering his voice. “Where are you?”

 _I'm here!_ He wanted to scream. _Please, I’m here, just turn around, please!_

Moomin cast the sheets aside, covering his legs, before padded across to the door to peer out into the corridor.

What was he _doing_?

 _Look at me_ , Snufkin pleaded, eyes rolling wildly. _Why won’t you look at me?_

And then he realised why.

He couldn’t see him. He was invisible. The sheets covered the old pair of trousers that he used in place of pyjamas, making the bed appear entirely unoccupied.

He had been so utterly distraught that he hadn’t even noticed.

Moomin had crept over to the pile of clothes now, carefully turning things over.

_Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no._

He must think that Snufkin had left. Gone, without telling him.

Snufkin’s brain rammed into overdrive, the blood in his ears roaring like the sea. Moomintroll was going to get back into bed and fall asleep, heartbroken, thinking that he had been abandoned, and Snufkin was going to lie there, inches away from him but unable able to move, to speak, even to cry, and he was going to die, and Moomin would wake up in the morning next to his bloated corpse and scream and cry and it would be all his fault, all his fault for dying like this, stupid, stupid, _stupid_

“Snufkin?”

Moomin had walked back to the bed. Could he see him? No, surely not. Could he? He didn’t dare hope.

The mattress sank under Moomin’s weight.

"Are you there, Snufkin?" he asked gently. "I can't see you, but I think I can hear you."

 _Yes!!_ he wanted to howl, _yes, I'm here! Please, Moomin, please, please find me, please, please, please_

Moomin reached over to pull the covers back.

“Oh, Snufkin,” he sighed, seeing the shape of his sleeping trousers, and the mingled relief and pity in his voice broke his heart just enough to let a couple of tears slip free and slide down his face.

Moomin patted carefully until he found his shoulder, then traced down his arm to find his hand.

“It’s okay, Snufkin, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Something snapped, like the bursting of a soap bubble, and Snufkin flickered back into view. He tried to speak, but the air was still stuck in his throat and his tongue was like lead.

“Oh!” Moomin cried out when he caught sight of Snufkin’s crumpled, tear-streaked face. He reached forward immediately and pulled him up to cradle him. “Oh, you poor thing!”

It was all too much. Snufkin’s head fell back over the crook of Moomin’s arm and he bawled.

“Oh, Snufkin,” Moomin crooned, cuddling and nuzzling him. “My poor, dear, darling Snufkin.”

“Muh-mmooominnn!” Snufkin wailed between ragged gasps, chest heaving.

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s alright.”

“Moooomih-hi-hinnnn...”

“It’s okay, darling, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Moomin was clearly trying to stay calm but he could hear him getting fraught, he could just _hear it_ , and it made him feel so _guilty_.

“I’m so, s-s-so,” he swallowed air like a man submerged “suh-suh- _sorrrryyyy_!”

“Oh no, Snufkin, no no no.” Moomin rocked gently, pressing him as close as possible. “Don’t be sorry, please don’t. There’s nothing to apologise for.”

There was. He wanted to be sorry. There weren’t enough ways for him to express how sorry he was. He deserved to be sorry. He deserved to be yelled at. He deserved to be kicked out of Moomin’s bed. He deserved to be thrown out into the cold to freeze to death.

“I love you so much, Snufkin,” Moomin murmured, and he deserved that so little, was so utterly unworthy of this adoration, that he was completely and utterly broken. Words fled him entirely as he curled in against Moomin’s chest, fisting great handfuls of his pelt and sobbing into downy white fur.

*

In time, Moomin sat back against the headboard with Snufkin propped against his chest. With excruciating care he took his shoulders and kneaded them gently. Then, synchronizing both paws, he massaged his way down his arms, working along to his elbows and then his wrists. The slow, repetitive movements let warmth seep back into his fingertips.

When Moomin rolled his thumbs against Snufkin’s palms, he closed his hands around them.

“Moomin?”

“Mmhm?”

“I’m sorry, Moomin.”

“Nuh-uh,” Moomin squeezed his paws in gentle reproach, “none of that.”

“But I am,” Snufkin insisted, “That was so horrible, and I was such a mess, and I just dumped all my feeling out onto you like, like some sort of…”

Guilt rushed up his throat like bile and he wrenched himself free to push the heels of his hands into his aching eyes.

“Snufkin,” Moomin said sternly, “I cannot conceive of a single situation which involves you crying where I wouldn’t want to be present to comfort you.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to look after me like that.”

“That’s not fair. You’re allowed to have moments like that, just like anyone else. And besides, you would do the same for me.”

There was a moment of stubborn silence.

“Well? You would, wouldn’t you.”

“Yes… yes, of course I would.”

Satisfied, Moomin wrapped his arms around him and hefted him back onto his lap. Snufkin settled in against him and was running his hands through Moomin’s coat when he realised that clumps of hair had been torn loose.

Oh. Oh _no_.

Looking down, he could see that the sheets were littered with clouds of fluff.

“Oh, _Moomin_ ,” he whispered, his vision growing blurry again.

“It’s alright, Snufkin, really it is.”

“But I’ve _hurt_ you, Moomin.”

“No, you haven’t, not at all. It’s just what’s left of my winter coat, is all. Look,” he plucked out a wad between finger and thumb to demonstrate. “See? Comes out at the lightest touch.”

He placed it delicately atop Snufkin’s head, like a little hat. “I suspect we could harvest enough to make you a sweater.”

Snufkin rewarded him with a wobbly laugh.

“That would be a most wonderful present,” he said through a wide and teary smile.

Moomin leant in to kiss his forehead.

“Next spring, maybe. As a coming-home present.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this last night instead of sleeping  
> [ poetry/writing tumblr](https://kay-osmonds-fireweed-foundation.tumblr.com/)  
> [poetry instagram](https://www.instagram.com/fireweedfoundation/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out about about the contents of Snufkin's nightmare and the past trauma which brought it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for (non-graphic) descriptions of violence and some minor use of bad language.
> 
> Also low-key a head canon as to why Snufkin hates cursing so much??

Later, much later, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Are you boys alright in there?” Moominmamma’s voice was concerned, but in a way that promised she wouldn’t intrude.

“Yes Mama,” Moomin called back.

“Would you like some breakfast?”

“No thank you, Mama. We’ll come down later.”

“Alright, dear.”

Snufkin listened to her retreating footsteps and groaned heavily.

“So she heard.”

“I suppose she must have.” 

“Which means that everyone else heard it as well.”

“Most likely.” Moomin petted his head in soothing little circles.

Snufkin threw his hands over his face “Oh, by the Groke’s _ass_!”

“Snufkin!”

Snufkin peered up through his fingers. “I can’t help it,” he protested, “I’m still very upset.”

“I can tell,” Moomin huffed, “and I sympathise entirely, but if you don’t perk up soon, I’ll be forced to resort to something drastic.”

“Something drastic, eh?” Snufkin tried to sound disinterested, but he was starting to giggle.

“Yes. Extreme measures for extreme times, as they say.”

“Oh? And what will you do?”

Moomin took his wrists firmly.

“I am going to kiss you-“ he kissed his forehead, “-and kiss you-“ he smooshed a kiss against his cheek, “-and kiss you-“ he landed a kiss on Snufkin’s laughing mouth, “-and…”

“Not if I kiss you first!” Snufkin launched up with such vigour that Moomin tumbled over, landing on his back with the Mumrik pressing a kiss against his lips.

“Alright,” he laughed, breathless, when Snufkin pulled away “you got me. I am kissed.”

“Hah.” Snufkin bonked his head against Moomin’s snout, letting pudgy white hands trace lines up and down his sides.

Presently, Moomin said “Snufkin?”

“Yes, dear dove?”

“What… happened last night? You don’t have to talk about it,” he added, “not if you don’t want to…”

“No, it’s alright,” Snufkin sighed. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”

“It’s the worst I’ve ever seen you,” Moomin admitted softly.

Snufkin rolled off him and stared up at the ceiling.

“It was a dream. Well, a nightmare.”

“What was it about?”

“It was about you.”

“Oh? That doesn’t sound promising,” he tried to joke.

“You were getting hurt.”

Moomin flinched. “Oh, how horrible!”

“Yes. Yes, it was.” After a pause, he added, “It was the worst thing in the world, actually.”

“Well fortunately, I’m not hurt – quite the opposite, in fact!” Moomin cuddled up against him. “But why did that make you turn invisible? I thought that only happened when you got neglected.”

Snufkin turned back to face him without quite meeting his gaze.

“Funny thing, that. It can happen through neglect, but that’s not the only thing that causes it.”

Moomin took one of Snufkin’s paws in his own, humming a concerned noise.

“Any idea what brought it on?”

Snufkin sighed, working his hand in Moomin’s.

“All winter, I was working up the courage to ask you to come travelling with me.”

“Wait, really?” Moomin’s eyes grew bright.

“Yes. A few months further north. I don’t usually get that far up, what with staying in Moominvalley when it’s warm…”

“Snufkin, that’s a lovely idea!” Moomin cried in delight, throwing his arms around him. “Of course I’ll come with you!”

“I was sure you would,” Snufkin laughed faintly before the smile slid from his face. “That’s what scares me.”

“It…does?”

“Yes. You remember we talked about the Joxter a while ago?”

“I do, yes.”

“Well, I had been thinking about him. Remembering things.”

“Okay. What sort of things?”

“Good things, mostly. But there was one this one thing…”

Snufkin sat up and away from him, staring at, or maybe through, the opposite wall. Moomin waited.

“We were travelling together – it’s custom for Mumrik to travel with their young for at least a year or two, although I think we ended up staying together longer than that – staying outside a little port down in the south. He’d taken me to look for scraps, but I wanted to impress him by stealing a fish from one of the boats.”

“Did you get caught?” 

“Yes. Two great fishermen in big black boots. One hauled me up by the scruff, told his friend he was going to gut me like a herring. I thought I was going to die.” He pressed his fingers against his eyes.

“What happened?” Moomin asked, trembling.

“Papa came and grabbed me.”

“And?”

“He didn’t realise there were two of them.”

Moomin swallowed as a sick feeling settled high in his tummy.

“His hands were full with holding me, so he couldn’t fight back when the other one knocked him to the ground.”

“Oh, Snufkin…”

“They didn’t give him time to get up off the floor before they started kicking us. Papa was shielding my head with his hands, so they got his face.”

“Oh, Snufkin!”

“They called us such awful things,” Snufkin’s voice had started to swim, “ _’bastard mumriks’_ , if I remember correctly. _‘Count yourself lucky that we don’t kill you and your bastard son’_. Then they spat on papa’s cheek and left.”

A tear slipped out between his fingers to roll down an increasingly transparent cheek.

“Oh, _Snufkin_!” Moomin exclaimed, trying desperately hard not to cry himself.

“And he was so kind about it afterwards. Fussed over me and groomed me as if I were the one covered in bruises.”

“He’s your papa, Snufkin, of course he did!”

“I know. But I still hated myself. I hated myself _so much_." He’d started shaking, wracked by sobs, his poor body growing fainter by the minute. "That night was the first time I turned invisible. I was so ashamed of what I had done that I just wanted to vanish off the face of the earth.”

Moomin inched closer.

“Snufkin?”

Snufkin whipped round suddenly and seized him by the shoulders, his ghostly cheeks outlined in rivers of tears.

“What if…” he choked out, “what if you agreed to come with me, and something happened? Something like that? What if I couldn’t protect you like my papa protected me? What if I had to go back to Moominhouse and tell Mama and Papa that their son wasn’t coming home, and all because he’d been dragged into harm’s way by some _selfish **bastard** mumrik_ who couldn’t be content to stay in one place…”

“Stop, stop!” Moomin howled, throwing his arms around what was barely an outline anymore, “Please, Snufkin, stop!”

Snufkin squeezed him as tightly as if he were about to lose him.

“I dreamt that they were _killing_ you, Moomin,” he wept. “You were _dying_ , and I couldn’t _do_ anything. What if it's like my father’s foreboding, Moomin? What if that happens? I was helpless, just trapped, watching, watching as they...as they…”

“Oh, Snufkin,” Moomin cried wretchedly, “Oh _Snufkin_!”

At that moment, their wailing was broken by a gentle but insistent knocking on the door. Moomin managed to stifle himself to a hiccup while Snufkin buried his face against his shoulder to muffle his sobs.

“I’m coming in,” said Moominmamma. Before either of her sons had time to object, the door swung open to admit her and a tray stacked neatly with cups and a coffee pot.

“I know you said you didn’t want any breakfast,” she said gently, setting the tray on the bedside table, “but I thought I’d bring Snufkin some coffee. Where is he?”

Before Moomin could reply, Snufkin cried out.

“Oh, _Moominmamma_!”

Moominmamma jumped as invisible arms were thrust around her.

“Snufkin? Is that you?”

“Why did you have to bring me coffee, Moominmamma? Why must people keep being _nice_ to me?”

Moominmamma looked helplessly at her son, who responded by bursting into tears.

“Snufkin’s hurting, Mama,” he sobbed, “and I don’t know what to do!”

Moominmamma sighed and patted carefully until she was sure she had embraced the invisible Snufkin.

“Come and sit down on the bed, dear.”

She manoeuvred him round and then sat, a blubbering boy on either side, and held their shoulders and cooed gentle, maternal things. When they’d stopped shaking enough to hold the porcelain safely, she poured them both a cup of coffee. Snufkin had regained just enough colour to mean she could find his head to pet his hair.

“Now then,” she said gently, “why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”

They told her everything, between sniffles and sips of coffee, and she listened intently.

“That’s sounds serious,” she said when they had finished. “Had you never told anyone what happened to you and your father?”

“No. No-one else knows, except maybe the Mymble.”

“I wish you’d told us,” Moomin snuffled, reaching across Mama’s lap to put a hand on Snufkin’s arm.

“I couldn’t have,” Snufkin whispered. “I didn’t want anyone to know, ever.”

Moomin started to well up again; fortunately, Mama intervened.

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Snufkin,” she said gently. “I know it’s easier said than done, but you didn’t hurt your papa – those men did. Whatever you had done to them, they had no right to react in the way that they did. Violence was their choice, not yours, and your papa reacted the way any parent should.”

“Mama…” The coffee cup had started to rattle in Snufkin hands, so she took it from him and placed it on the side.

“We don’t have to tell anyone else, but I think we should take you to a doctor. Someone who will know how best to help you.”

Snufkin nodded and made a wet, emotional little noise. Moominmamma kissed the top of his head lightly.

“If it helps, dear, there isn’t another person in all of Moominvalley who I’d trust more to travel with my son.”

Colour flooded back into Snufkin’s body like a drop of ink in water.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Quite possible the whole world, in fact.”

Snufkin hugged her so hard that he jogged Moomin into spilling his coffee all over Mama’s apron, which would surely have sent him pale again had she not burst into laughter.

“Goodness me, what will I do with you both,” she tittered, wiping her eyes. “Now, get cleaned up, the pair of you. Breakfast is nearly ready, and this time I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Yes Mama,” Moomin replied obediently, setting his cup on the tray as she picked it up off the bedside table.

“Oh, and bring those sheets downstairs with you,” she said on the way out. “They’re covered in coffee.”

Snufkin huffed a little laugh and rubbed his eyes fiercely.

“Moominmamma’s wonderful.”

“She is,” Moomin agreed. Taking Snufkin’s face in his hands, he added, “as are you, dear one.”

“Not as much as you,” he protested, a tired smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, now don’t start!” He kissed his forehead gently. “Will you be alright with that?”

“Mhm?”

“The doctor, I mean. It’s not the sort of thing I’d normally see you going in for.”

Snufkin turned his head to kiss Moomin’s palm.

“Not usually, but Mama’s right. I can’t keep on like this.”

“Okay. Good.” He kissed him again. “Come on then, Snuf, wash time.”

“Ugh.” Snufkin threw his head back.

“No, no, no, dirty boy, Mama said it’s wash time, so wash time it is.”

Snufkin narrowed his eyes.

“Make me.”

He realised his mistake with a shriek when Moomin caught him round the waist and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down, you brute!”

“Me no brute! Me Tarzan! And Tarzan say it wash time.”

“Oh come on, when would Tarzan ever bathe…”

But Moomin was already carrying him out of the door, fully intent on carrying him all the way to the bathroom. He had to put him down to navigate the stairs, but otherwise he succeeded famously. They washed up and, to their joint delight, found that Snufkin’s reflection in the mirror was perhaps the most visible it had ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next week when Snufkin goes to CBT  
> Also Moominmamma for president 2020  
> [ poetry/writing tumblr](https://kay-osmonds-fireweed-foundation.tumblr.com/)  
> [poetry instagram](https://www.instagram.com/fireweedfoundation/)


End file.
